Messing Up 101
by Annevader
Summary: "I never pegged you as one to wear red knickers. Very commendable taste in underwear, i must say." "POTTER!" ON HIATUS.
1. It doesn't pay to be good

**Okay, so I've updated these chapters, having edited out a few, blackhole-esque plotholes. And like the nincompoop I am, I forgot to copy paste the author's notes. So all my lovely words of wisdom have been deleted. Ah, well. You can now appreciate the story without my snide endnotes! **

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><p><strong>Messing Up 101<strong>

Story Summary

Sylvie Reece: Your average bigoted Slytherin (or so she tells herself) is faced with a dilemma of epic proportions: James Potter the Second has issued a challenge and she's not going to be the one to back down. "So….how am I going to get on the Quidditch Team again?"

**Chapter One: It doesn't pay to be good.**

Where the crapola is the powdered shroomberry?

Why can I never find anything when I need it? I mean, what if my potion explodes or something while I'm looking for this seemingly non-existent ingredient? What if it spreads across the dungeon floor in an acidic pool of doom and burns holes through my sexy new shoes? What will I do then, huh? What will I have to live for?

My hand knocks against someone else's and I look up to apologize.

Oh Merlin.

It's that Gryffindor bloke Daniel Thomas.

Dan is totally fit, even though he _is _technically from my rival house.

But then again, when has that ever stopped me?

I mean I was totally dating Seamus Finnigan(II) last year (Okay, maybe not dating, but we did go to Hogsmeade together that one time. Except we couldn't tell anyone because even though Seamus is apparently a Gryffindork, he lacks somewhat in the balls department. Anyway, we spent the whole time time hiding in the Hog's Head and I smelt like goats for a week after) and then there was that whole fiasco with Eugene McLaggen which I'd really rather not think about.

Anyway, Dan smiles at me and apologizes.

Wow. I can feel my heart!

Not that that's anything new. According to Allie, my heart spends more time hammering the inside of my chest than it does actually sitting around where it's supposed to like an obedient little vital organ.

I'm probably going to drop dead in a couple of years. The Healers will put it down to negligent and/or abusive behavior and will chuck my dead body in a cell in Azkaban.

Can Dementors steal dead people's souls? Or do they just whiz out the tops of our heads when we die? Souls, I mean.

"So, Daniel-"

Damn it all to hell, he's gone.

xxx

They have BLUEBERRY MUFFINS!

MUFFINS!

I love those house elves.

Merlin bless their knobbly little heads.

I'm already on my third muffin by the time Allison slides into the seat next to mine.

"Wha have 'oo been?" I demand venomously.

She doesn't even bother turning to look at me.

Considering we've only just been reunited after like two whole months apart I find this rather insulting.

"I find this rather insulting," I inform her.

"Okay," she mutters absently.

What? What is wrong with her?

Have the Inferi converted her? Oh no, she's one of them now isn't she?!

TELL ME THE TRUTH, I CAN HANDLE IT.

I grab her by the shoulders and shake her violently.

"Come back to me, Allie!"

A couple of second years start snickering and I whip around to glare at them.

"Shut up you poisonous little toadstools, before I turn you into teapots!"

"We don't take orders from no dyke," the first one says nastily.

"Yeah! Tha's right," says the second one, rather gratuitously in my opinion.

I gasp and hold up a hand to my chest.

I'm wounded! I'm affronted! I'm flabbergasted!

Since when have second years been so foul mouthed?

I transfigure the two into teapots.

Well…okay so the spouts are still noses but at least that means they're definitely breathing right?

I glance up warily at the staff table.

Okay, no one's noticed. Phew.

I turn my attention back to my wayward best friend and school my features into a mask of patience and sympathetic understanding.

"Where have you been, young lady?" I say in my best therapist-mom voice.

Surprisingly, she blushes.

"With Fred…" she mumbles.

GASP!

"Allie! What happened to _'Fred Weasley is a jerk and I'll transfigure myself into a tea bag before I go out with him again'_? I thought you were over him!"

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

"Well you know, I thought I was. But then he was so nice to me on the train and he kept owling me throughout the break and…."

She bites her lip and trails off, looking at me as if she's afraid I'm going to get up and hit her with one of the dessert trays or something.

See, Allison had this thing with Fred Weasley last year but then he went and broke up with her and got together with some bint from Hufflepuff. She was in hysterics for weeks and I was the unfortunate pillar of comfort.

She must have it pretty bad for him if she's actually going to forgive him for this.

Actually, I refuse to let her get back with him! I mean, he's obviously a complete tosser and Allie is really pretty. Loads of guys would love to go out with her! Like….erm, Like that bloke Leo. He's always checking her out. And Marcus Baddock! And….James Potter! Yeah, him too. Probably.

In fact, I'm going to tell her this. I turn to her and say,

"Allie, this foolishness must stop! You have plen-"

"_SYLVIE REECE! _DID YOU JUST TRANSFIGURE TWO SECOND YEARS INTO _TEAPOTS_?"

Shite.

xxx

Okay, so I have detention. For the next two weeks. No big deal.

Oh, and I lost 50 house points but that's okay. It's not like we can go below zero anyway. I mean, you know, considering it's only the first day back and we only had like 5 points in the hourglass or something.

I make my way to the Slytherin common room and whisper the password, looking around for any Gryffindork eavesdroppers.

For some reason, Potter and Weasley have assigned their minions the task of finding out the Slytherin Dungeon's password. They're probably planning to set off dungbombs in the common room again. Actually, scratch that. They'd never repeat a prank. I shudder to think what they've come up with this time.

"Snape's hooked nose."

The passageway materializes and I stroll through, confident I'm not being followed.

Just to make sure though, I turn and cast a tripping jinx.

There's a startled exclamation and then an '_oof' _as someone's face greets the ground.

Bugger.

We'll have to change the password again.

I wave my wand wearily. Veiled by the disillusionment charm is a sniveling and very frightened first year.

Good God, now they're using children.

Is that even legal?

I may be a Slytherin, but even _I _wouldn't send a little kid into the bloody dungeons to face a horde of malicious bigots.

(Yes, I admit that we _do _tend to discriminate over blood purity. It's not as bad as it used to be though from what we've been told. I mean, I don't know any Slytherins who would go off and try to kill little babies for example….)

Okay, now I'm faced with a moral dilemma.

If I take the kid as a hostage then we can use him to figure out what those two idiots are planning. I mean, it's all fair in love and war, right? Right?

On the other hand, it's just an ickle first year! It's not as if he's likely to know what they're up to anyway.

Oh, Merlin.

What to do? What to _do_?

I glance around nervously, this time on the lookout for fellow Slytherins.

I'm going to have to do the right thing!

…..…I may just barf.

I look down at the little kid who's bawling by now.

Oh, Lord. Oh Lordy Lord.

How does one go about this sort of thing?

"_Shoo_," I hiss flapping my arms.

"Huh?" says snot-face intelligently.

"You heard me, Shoo!"

"You- you're not going to…eat me?" he snivels and looks at me as if he's just seen the light and all that religious hoopla. Touched by the hand of God and so on.

Oh God, he's still sitting there clinging onto my leg.

"SCATTER."

Ooh, I just snarled. Brilliant!

"Yes maam!" Snot-face squeaks and takes off, arms flailing wildly as he dashes around the corner.

Urgh.

I'm such a bad Slytherin. I should have been in Hufflepuff or something.

All that yellowness surrounding me would have been punishment enough for my sins.

Imagine, _yellow._

Gross.

I'm walking around the next day, minding my own business, like a good little Slytherin (I think that may be an oxymoron) when I'm jumped by none other than James Potter the Second.

Okay. Stop right there and get that pervy image out of your head.

He just stopped me in the corridor is all. It's not as if he dragged me into the nearest (and most unhygienic, might I add) broom closet to ravage me and take me right there.

No, it went more like this, actually:

"Reece!"

"Potter!"

"Petrificus Lesalis!"

"Fu-aah!"

Why yes, that _is _the spell which roots the victim to the ground.

And yes, that _is _the spell which currently has _me _rooted to the ground.

Romantic, huh?

Damn that Potter and his pretty eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Review, review! *kisses* <strong>


	2. It doesn't pay to lie either, apparently

This is ridiculous, I've been standing here for like two hours now.

At least that's what it feels like, anyway.

After Potter sprung that pleasant little surprise on me (I'm going to have to get back at him for that one, that arse) he basically _interrogated _me as If I were some sort of war prisoner or something.

I mean okay, he didn't actually _hurt _me or anything like that (as if he'd have the balls), but he wasn't exactly offering me tea and biscuits either.

Our conversation went rather like this actually:

"I'm only going to say this once Reece: Stay out of our plans. If you meddle again, I _will _charm your hair purple for the rest of the year."

"Ooh, scary. I happen to like purple anyway…..In fact, if there was a purple house I'd be in it, so there!"

"_Reece…_"

"_Potter…."_

He clenched his teeth at this point and I eyed his wand warily. What if he _did _charm my hair purple?

I'd have to get an entirely new wardrobe to match…..I guess I could wear lots of black and white. Green would be totally out though. Which okay, is not that bad a thing because there can be _too _much of a thing, you know? But shh, don't tell anyone, I'm a Slytherin, they'd bake me in a pie. Mm. Reece tart.

"Right, as I was _saying_, stay out of our plans!"

"I thought you were going to say that only once."

"That's beside's the point! I can say it however many times I like. Now, as I was sayi-"

"So you're really telling me that you don't listen to yourself and yet you expect me to polish your shoes and turn down your sheets and salute when you walk by and sire your offspring and-"

"Err- what?"

"Umm. Nothing."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

"Where was I?"

"You were just about to undo the charm and then leave," I tried hopefully.

He looked at me incredulously, as if amazed I would even bother.

Huh. He doesn't know me at all.

But then again, why would he?

I'm surprised he's managed to retain something as complicated as a name in that thick skull of his.

He shook his head, looking disorientated.

I do have that effect on people. Send 'em round in circles you know.

It must be the Slytherin in me- I'm so cunning. Tee hee.

"Right. Enough of this. I can't believe I've just spent the past twenty minutes talking to a _Slytherin."_

He looks at me as if I'm some particularly disgusting flavor of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean.

Hey! I resent that! I taste _way _better than sprouts and boogers!

Er…..not that he'll ever know, of course.

Sadly.

No! Shut up Sylvie! SHUT UP.

Thou. Musteth. Resisteth. The. Temptation(eth?).

He shakes his head again and looks at me contemptuously.

"What do you care anyway? You don't even like your own house do you? It's not as if you've ever done anything for it."

Ouch. That hurts.

And I absolutely do like my house. Really.

You know nothing Jamesy!

"Oh yeah?" I shoot back. "Well, I'll have you know that I do a _lot _for my house!"

He raises an eyebrow.

"Like what?"

"Like…er...Like…..play Quidditch!"

He scoffs, obviously sure I'm bluffing

Which I am. But, shh.

"_You?_ _You're _on the quidditch team? What's your role, cheerleader?"

"I am NOT a cheerleader! Whatever one of those are! I'm…um.….I can't tell you! Because it's all part of the plan and I'm not giving away the plan and you can't make me! So there!"

"Riiight," he drawls. "Whatever you say. Well, I guess I'll see you on the Quidditch pitch then."

He raises an eyebrow sardonically, turns on his heel and walks off. Actually, scratch that. He _struts_ off. Bloody…peacock-y...thing!

Bugger.

Now what am I supposed to do? I've never played Quidditch!

Royal Screwage!

At any rate, it's at about this point that I realize Potter has left me stranded out here, rooted to the ground with my arms petrified at my sides.

I can't even reach my bloody wand.

Okay, I'll just have to try wandless magic then!

I can do it. I know I can. Because I'm brilliant.

I screw up my eyes and concentrate till I get a headache.

_Finite Incantatem. Finite Incantatem. Finite Incantatem! FINITE INCAN- _Oh, chuck it.

I give up.

xxx

I am completely humiliated.

Really.

I stood there for THREE HOURS before some poor sod finally came along and released me from the charm.

I mean you'd think that _someone_ or the other would think to go back to their common room within the span of three bloody hours but apparently not.

I guess I'm not the only one who finds it unbearably gloomy in there.

That's a relief, anyway.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

Anyway, so finally Thomas Baddock came along and lifted the charm and then charitably helped me into the common room, considering I pretty much exhausted my vocabulary of expletives along the way.

And that's really saying something.

I was so burned out, I couldn't even bring myself to check out the bloke, which is something I usually do on a routine basis.

I mean, someone has to appreciate the aesthetic scenery Hogwarts has to offer, is all I'm saying.

And I'm more than willing to fill the position.

Okay, woah, that sounded dirty even in my head.

I think I'll go up to my dorm and faint now.

xxx

"Allie, you _have _to help me!" I pleaded, widening my eyes and pouting sadly.

"Stop whining and get that retarded look off your face first."

I gasped.

"Retarded is a bad word and only mean people say it! Are you a mean person, Allie?"

She turned around and gave me a level look.

"What the hell was the sorting hat thinking when it put you in Slytherin? You should have been in Hufflepuff."

I gasp again, highly affronted.

I start to speak but she cuts me off, shaking her head and saying: "Fine. I'll help you. I'll teach you how to play Quidditch but only because I owe you ten galleons and I'm considering my debt repaid."

"And because you love me right?" I add hopefully.

"Right," she concurs, rolling her eyes.

Yay!

Allison is a big ol' meanie but she's still my best friend so I knew she'd help me. Not to mention, she's seeker of the Slytherin team and is really really super brilliant at Quidditch; unlike me, yours truly. I mean to be fair, I love _watching _Quidditch and I've never exactly played it so I don't know how bad I am. Guess I'm gonna find out soon, though.

After dinner we grabbed our brooms and headed out to the pitch. Well, Allie grabbed her broom and I just nicked one from the broom shed.

"Okay," Allie said, once we were standing on the pitch. "You do know how to fly right?"

I nodded.

That much I could do. We'd taken classes our first year after all, and I hadn't been terrible. Not good either but certainly in no danger of slipping off of the back of my broom. (Unlike Seamus(II), that prat.)

"Mount your broom and kick off," she instructs.

We lift off into the air, going slowly as I adjust to the feeling of being on a broom.

I circle the pitch, slowly increasing my speed and hoping nobody is looking out of their windows.

I don't want word to get around about how awful I am at Quidditch because then Potter would hear of it and I'd be the laughing stock of Gryffindor. And probably the rest of the houses too. So, yeah. Nobody better be lookin' out!

Allie flew up to join me, holding a Quaffle in her hands.

"Well I'm relieved to see you can stay in the air at the very least. Makes my job that much easier. Heads up!"

She tossed the Quaffle to me and I lunged for it, upsetting my balance.

The broom rocked violently, nearly pitching me off and I clung to it desperately. The Quaffle drifted to the ground.

Damn!

Allie sighed. "Let's try that again."

For the next twenty minutes, Allie chucked the Quaffle at me and I dropped it nearly every time. As soon as I let go of the broom, I would lose my balance and drop the ball.

"This is ridiculous," I moan. "How the hell do you guys _do _this stuff?"

"I don't," she reminded me. "I'm seeker remember. Okay, let's try something else. Shoot at the hoops, we'll work on your balance later."

I took the Quaffle from her and aimed at the middle hoop.

I threw it as hard as I could…

-and it went through!

MERLIN, how did that _happen?_

Even Allie looked impressed.

"Not bad, little grasshopper. Let's see if you can do that again."

I could.

And I did!

I managed to get 7 out of 10 shots through and by the end I was completely exhilarated.

I have a secret talent! I have a secret talent! Na-na-na-na-na!

I'm gonna kick Potter's ass!

I did a victory lap of the pitch, practically giddy with excitement.

I can score! (And not just with the Quaffle, if you know what I mean. Yes, I am wiggling my eyebrows in a creepy manner.)

I am _so _getting on the team. I mean, I'll be like, super perfect and the best Quidditch player since Oliver Wood and I'll get signed on by the Holyhead Harpies and then everyone will be like "Woah, who ever knew that that Reece girl was so very talented? And she hid it all this time! I wish I were as talented and pretty as her! Golly!"

Tee hee.

"Hey Sylvie!"

Allie chucks the Quaffle at me and I promptly fall off my broom, landing flat on my back.

Huh. That part still needs work then.


	3. Tryouts

**Chapter Three: Tryouts**

Oh my God, Quidditch Tryouts ALREADY.

I've only been practicing with Allie for 4 days! That's not enough!

Actually, on second thought, it's more than enough: Allie's completely demented.

She tied my hands behind my back and had me run laps around the pitch '_to improve my sense of balance' _and _'reduce my dependence on my hands'_.

Bullshit. She just enjoyed watching me suffer every time I fell flat on my face. Which, at last count, was 23 times. Yeah, 23 times I fell on the poor bruised, beautiful work of art that is my face.

Anyway, according the notice that was put up about five days back, Quidditch tryouts are to be held today from 11am onwards.

And the new Quidditch captain is….Thomas Baddock!

Maybe I could seduce him into putting me on the team…..

Nah, bad idea.

Tommy boy is a decent looking bloke and everything but he's a bit of a sleaze. He must have slept with half of Slytherin by now and has moved on to Ravenclaw.

Oh well, I suppose it promotes inter-house unity.

Allie and I made our way to breakfast and took our places at the table. There was always space at the Slytherin table. After the Great War, the school had considered removing the whole sorting procedure then decided it would be too complicated to run an entire school without dividing students on some basis.

Plus they would have had to sack the sorting hat and I've heard that shit can get nasty.

At any rate, the number of people in Slytherin house had dwindled as more and more people associated it with bad connections and dishonor yada-yada. Most pureblood families continued to support Slytherin (such as mine) but others tried to distance themselves.

But you want to hear something really ironic?

Harry Potter's youngest son is in Slytherin.

Yeah, that's right. Albus Potter is in the House O' Evil. Someone save his innocent soul!

(Sarcasm Mode Activated.)

Oh, and he's best buds with a _Malfoy._

I love irony.

It's so beautiful.

As beautiful as the sight of pancakes drenched in maple syrup in the morning.

Mmm.

xxx

Oh God, I wish I hadn't eaten those pancakes.

Damn them and their enticing aroma!

My stomach is churning wildly and I'm afraid I'll puke as soon as I'm in the air.

I don't understand this! I was perfectly FINE at brekkers!

So, what the crapola is wrong with me now?

Hormones. Must be hormones.

That and the fact that the whole of the bloody Gryffindor team is sitting in the stands RIGHT NOW WATCHING US.

This cannot be allowed!

I must put a stop to it!

I march over to them and come to a dramatic stop, hands on my hips.

"You guys aren't supposed to be here right now. Get lost. Permanently, if you can."

"Reece!" Fred Weasley greets me jovially. "How's my favourite Slytherin?"

I grimace at him. "I'll let Allie know you asked."

He grins back. "Excellent."

"So Reece, I thought you were already on the team."

I unwillingly drag my eyes to Potter and that charming/infuriating smirk of his.

"I am," I say coolly. "But I still need to tryout with the rest of the common drudges. It's only fair."

He leans back in his seat. "Since when have Slytherins played _fair?_" He asks incredulously. There is genuine disbelief in his voice. How insulting. Slytherins can be quite fair on occasion. Like in 1983, when that bloke Henry-something admitted to the referee that he had punched the Gryffindor seeker in the mouth during a particularly rousing match.

Tuning back into the present, I splutter in indignation. "What is your _problem_?" I demand hotly. "You're such a nutcase! Your hate for my house is completely unfounded! It's as ridiculous as….as things that are ridiculous!"

Oh God, what am I saying? I'm making no sense!

"Anyway," I continue huffily. "You're supposed to leave."

"Make us." Potter raises an eyebrow again.

God! What a supercilious moron.

I wish I could hit him over the head with a frying pan.

"Alright then. You asked for it."

I draw my wand and immediately the rest of the Gryffindor team have theirs out as well, all aimed at me.

Oops?

I notice that James hasn't bothered taking out his own wand. His eyes flicker from me to a point over my shoulder and he stands up calmly.

"Let it be. They're not worth it," he calls out. The Gryffindors get to their feet, shooting me nasty glares as they file grudgingly out of the stands.

I turn around and see that the other Slytherins are stowing their wands away, looking disappointed at the lack of bloodshed.

They had probably rushed in as soon as things started turning ugly.

I feel a huge grin spread across my face.

I don't care what Potter says, _I_ think Slytherin can be bloody brilliant.

xxx

I take a deep breath and several short frantic ones as I mount my broom.

I have to go _first._ FIRST. I'll try out before everyone else!

It'll be so agonizing when I have to watch the people after me try out. They'll probably all be a bajillion times better than me.

I kick off and feel a wave of nausea creep up on me. My fear is almost paralyzing.

Oh God, what if I make a complete arse of myself?

I'll forever be known as the Girl-who's-a-complete-boob-at-Quidditch.

Or maybe they'd call me Silly Sylvie like that time in Wizarding primary school when Timothy Carter started calling me that and soon _all _the cool five year olds knew me only as 'Silly Sylvie' the Girl who thought Muggles were a type of breakfast cereal.

I WAS FIVE.

They have scarred me mentally and psychologically. I haven't been able to look at a box of cereal the same way since. I guess it's cereal-phobia. I could be a cereal killer, thanks to those kids.

I'm so funny, I'm going to puke.

(Sarcasm Mode Activated.)

I take another deep calming breath and face the hoops where Tom Baddock is hovering.

The Quaffle feels slippery because my hands are sweating so much. Eurgh.

I grit my teeth and lean forward, charging and throwing it right at the middle hoop.

Baddock catches it with ease, looking almost disappointed at my lackluster performance.

I fly over to him and take the Quaffle before he decides to throw it to me. Lord knows what'll happen if he does. (I'll likely fall off my broom and onto my arse is what'll happen.)

It's alright, though.

It's best of five. I still have a chance.

I close my eyes briefly.

Alright, let's see if I can't just make this work….

I fly towards the right hoop and feint, throwing it towards the middle one at the last second.

Tom's already darted to the right and the Quaffle sails in!

I can feel the reflief, almost tangible, in my chest, but I still have to do it three more times.

So, let's go!

xxx

I did it! I got in all the shots -with the exception of the first of course.

And nobody passed the Quaffle to me, so they don't know what a complete train wreck I really am.

But it's far from over yet. There are still four hopefuls after me, and a couple of them are looking quite green around the gills.

A timid looking fifth year girl walks on to the pitch after me and takes off shakily.

She doesn't look much and she isn't.

She only gets in one shot and I have a feeling it was a fluke because she looked so shocked after that she fell off her broom.

The next two are fairly useless as well and just as I'm thinking I've got it in the bag, it's Gerard Wilson's turn.

I watch with a sinking heart as his first shot goes in, followed by the second, the third and the fourth.

Oh God, it's his last shot, I have to do something!

I watch as he takes his position, looking intently towards the hoops.

Okay, must do something! Anything! What!

I'm desperate!

He draws his arm back, getting ready to release the ball.

He glances down for a second and I catch his eye by licking my lips and mouthing 'I want you'. I trail a finger down my chest, just in case he didn't get the message.

He falters, looking completely shocked and the Quaffle veers off course, crashing harmlessly into the stands.

I can hear him cursing and yelling expletives at the top of his voice as he and Tom descend, landing nimbly.

I sigh in relief.

Saved.

I still have a chance!

"Alright Folks," Tom says. "I won't lie to you, we only need one new chaser and it's going to be between Sylvie and Gerard. The list will be up by tomorrow afternoon."

He turns and tromps to the changing rooms, a gaggle of disappointed Slytherins following him.

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling completely exhausted.

At least it's all over now…

"So Sylvie," Gerard says smoothly, sidling up to me. "Do you want to ride my broomstick tonight?"

I groan and stomp away.


	4. Being Slytherin

**Chapter 4: Being Slytherin**

I've just finished telling Allie about how the tryouts went and I'm already regretting it.

Believe it or not, she's under the impression that the only way I'm going to end up on the team is if I literally seduce the Captain into putting me on it.

"But Sylvie, you don't have to _seduce _him, you just have to show him how much more…fun it's going to be with you on the team, rather than Wilkins."

"Wilson," I mutter.

"Whatever. You've already started playing the game honey. You don't get to change sides now," she says smugly.

Dammit! I _knew _I shouldn't have told her about how I got Wilson to miss the last shot.

Now she's all up in my business about it and is firmly convinced that this is the most Slytherin thing I have ever done and it should be celebrated by more seduction and general whoring.

I try my best to glower at her but I can't quite pull it off. I stick to normal glaring.

"I will NOT do this. It is low and despicable and also very very creepy."

She turns to face me, putting down her tube of _Flybody's_ _Every Quidditch Player's Lip-Balm_ (For protection against those harsh winds!)

I swear to Merlin, there is an insane glint in her eye. My best friend is a complete and utter loon and will probably murder me in my bed as I sleep, before this year is out.

"You don't really have a choice," she whispers.

xxx

I'm standing in an alcove outside the great hall fidgeting with the horribly short skirt I have on.

Allie's standing next to me issuing last minute instructions.

"-and remember, posture is everything. Don't slump and be sure to stick out your-"

"Allie," I interrupt nervously. "Why do I have to do this in the great hall in front of a thousand kids and the entire staff?"

She rolls her eyes as if this is the most inane question she's ever heard.

"For maximum effect! And also because I'm meeting Fred in the common room later and I don't want you ruining the atmosphere with your namby-pamby amateur attempts at being sexy."

"Hey!"

She waves her hand dismissively.

"Face it, you're naïve. Now repeat the game plan, with all points listed in chronological order."

xxx

Oh God, this is the most embarrassing thing I have _ever _done. Like, EVER.

I concentrate on walking in a sultry manner, trying not to trip in Allie's sky-high heels.

I am going to be in _so much _shit. I'm still wearing the school uniform, but Allie's shortened the skirt magically so it now looks like something only a stripper or Amber Nott would wear. In fact it's more like a belt. Actually scratch that. I've worn belts wider than this. And I've had to leave the top few buttons of my shirt open instead of just the first. I can't help but feel really self-conscious (and utterly ridiculous) as people turn to look at me in surprise.

I can see Gerard Wilson leering at me from our table. Cue disgusted shudder.

Allie's already gone ahead and sat down at our usual spot, winking at me encouragingly.

I slide gracefully into the seat next to Tom, straddling the bench and smiling at him in a come-hither way.

He turns to look at me, eyes wide with surprise. That only lasts for a second though- suddenly he's leering at me same as Gerard and about 67 other guys.

Oh God, I think he can see my underwear. Allie made me wear this weird matching black lace set and it's really itchy. I resist the urge to pick at it. God, what I wouldn't give for a comfortable pair of jammies and a timeturner/mass obliviator right now.

"Hey Tom," I let my eyes linger on him, trying not to barf all over his plate.

"Sylvie," he says smoothly, his gaze fixed somewhere to the south of my face (No prizes for guessing where). "You're looking…..different."

"Really?" I say coquettishly, splaying a hand against his leg.

"Really," he leans in closer. "But I happen to like different."

EWW. If he tries to snog me, I will KILL Greengrass. I don't care if they toss me in Azkaban!

Don't get me wrong, I think Tom is good looking but that doesn't mean I want to…you know, do stuff with him.

He's still leaning in and I glance around the great hall desperately, looking for an out.

My eyes land on Potter and Fred Weasley who seem to be watching this episode intently. Potter doesn't look too happy right now, and I have a sinking feeling he knows exactly what I'm up to. He raises his eyebrows when he catches me looking and I scowl and turn back to Baddock.

"So Tom," I begin, my face only inches from his. "Won't it be so _rad _if we're on the team together? Just think of all the….fun we'd have. I know it'll be _hard _with you as captain, but I just can't wait!" I lean back abruptly taking away his bird's eye view down my top. "Though of course I may not be on the team at all. That would be so terrible, don't you think?"

I sigh delicately, trying to look heartbroken.

Suddenly inspired, I reach for a sausage and lick it, letting out a moan of contentment.

"I wish I could have sausages for dessert, they're _so_ good. Don't you think so?"

"Huh," he says intelligently.

I giggle fatuously. I have to get out of here now, I can't handle this!

"You're so funny! Well anyway, I suppose I should go to bed now. Maybe we'll see each other on the pitch….?"

"Bed? What? Can I take you there?"

"Come again?"

_Come again? _Holy hell, I'm as bad as he is. Also, EWWWW.

"No! I meant," he takes a deep breath. "Can I drop you off at your dorm?"

I make a sound that can be misconstrued as giggling, though really I'm just choking on the wad of self-loathing lodged in my throat.

"I'll be fine. You go ahead and finish eating, darling. Toodles!"

I blow him a kiss and skip away from the table, trying my hardest not to run full-pelt.

As I'm hurrying through the doors, I glance back impulsively at the Gryffindor table. Potter's eyes flicker up to meet mine briefly before he looks away and continues his conversation.

Cheeks burning in shame, I leave the room.

xxx

I've only taken one step out of the double doors when I crash into Mcgonagall, on her way to dinner.

Crap!

Her eyes seem to pop out of her head when she takes in my appearance and her cheeks literally drain of colour so she looks more like one of the school ghosts.

"_Ms. Reece_," She hisses,nostrils flaring.

Double Crap!

"This is most inappropriate attire! I would like to remind you that we are running an educational institution of the highest standards, _not_ a brothel. Report to my office at 7 pm every day for the next three weeks, to complete both your current and prior detentions, as received by you on the first day of term. And," she added with one last sweeping look of scorn, "change your clothes."

She gives me one more burning look and glides into the Great Hall, eyes still bugging out in indignation.

I groan and banged my head against the wall.

KILL ME NOW.

By the time I finally trudge into my dorm, I am practically drooping with humiliation and shame.

This had better get me the post or I am SO blowing up the astronomy tower.

I just hope Mcgonagall doesn't write to my psycho grandma about this. She wouldn't just kill me, she'd probably chain me to a whipping post and use all sorts of evil spells on me.

And okay, my mom wouldn't let her do that and neither would my sister.

And I'm pretty sure I can kick the old lady's butt any day….But whatever. She'd find some way to make my life miserable, I'm sure. Like, she'd probably sit me down and give me another twenty lectures on blood purity and then have me write them out in perfect calligraphy.

Stupid Grandma. Stupid Detention. Stupid Quidditch.

This is all Potter's fault! If he wasn't such an arrogant berk I never would have gotten into this mess. This is what I get for getting involved with stupid Gryffindors!

Gaah!

Okay, I'm going to stop thinking about this now.

I collapse on my bed and magic my uniform back to normal, kicking the heels away with an unhealthy amount of vehemence.

I'm asleep before Allie or any of the others return, already dreaming of yummy Honeydukes' chocolate.

xxx

AUUGHH I had the worst dream!

Someone poisoned my lovely chocolate boxes with love potion so I fell in love with Dream-Tom and Dream-Tom was a total sleazeball like Real-Tom and then there was something about Dream-Potter and Dream-Allie hooking up which was really disturbing and then stuff happened which I don't (want to) remember.

It's a Sunday so it's already 12 in the afternoon by the time I roll out of bed.

A single thought filters through my groggy mind: The list was supposed to be up by twelve today!

I sprint out of the dorm, practically flying up the stairs to the Common Room, taking the steps three at a time and skid to a halt in front of the notice board.

I can barely bring myself to look. I steel my nerves and force myself to read:

_Slytherin Quidditch Team:_

_Thomas Baddock- Keeper; Captain; 7th year_

_Allison Greengrass- Seeker; 7th year_

_Beatrice Warrington-Beater; 6th year_

_Heahstan Goyle-Beater;6th year_

_Albus Potter- Chaser; 5th year_

_Scorpius Malfoy- Chaser; 5th year_

_Sylvie Reece- Chaser; 7th year_

I DID IT! I MADE THE TEAM! I'M CHASER!

I'm grinning wildly and I can't help but start jumping on the stupid green couches.

Aaah, it's times like these I wish I could do a cartwheel!

Allie walks through the entrance and rushes up to me. "So you saw the list, I take it?" she laughs.

"YESYESYESYES!"

"You're such an idiot Sylvie," she shakes her head but she's grinning as much as I am.

Oh, that hypocrite!

I grab a cushion and whack her with it, laughing manically.

Her mouth drops open in surprise and she reaches for her own weapon.

"Now you've really done it. THIS IS WAR!" she cries out.

And then it's just a chaotic whirlwind of feathers and flying objects.


	5. Power to Perversion

**Chapter 4: Being Slytherin**

I've just finished telling Allie about how the tryouts went and I'm already regretting it.

Believe it or not, she's under the impression that the only way I'm going to end up on the team is if I literally seduce the Captain into putting me on it.

"But Sylvie, you don't have to _seduce _him, you just have to show him how much more…fun it's going to be with you on the team, rather than Wilkins."

"Wilson," I mutter.

"Whatever. You've already started playing the game honey. You don't get to change sides now," she says smugly.

Dammit! I _knew _I shouldn't have told her about how I got Wilson to miss the last shot.

Now she's all up in my business about it and is firmly convinced that this is the most Slytherin thing I have ever done and it should be celebrated by more seduction and general whoring.

I try my best to glower at her but I can't quite pull it off. I stick to normal glaring.

"I will NOT do this. It is low and despicable and also very very creepy."

She turns to face me, putting down her tube of _Flybody's_ _Every Quidditch Player's Lip-Balm_ (For protection against those harsh winds!)

I swear to Merlin, there is an insane glint in her eye. My best friend is a complete and utter loon and will probably murder me in my bed as I sleep, before this year is out.

"You don't really have a choice," she whispers.

xxx

I'm standing in an alcove outside the great hall fidgeting with the horribly short skirt I have on.

Allie's standing next to me issuing last minute instructions.

"-and remember, posture is everything. Don't slump and be sure to stick out your-"

"Allie," I interrupt nervously. "Why do I have to do this in the great hall in front of a thousand kids and the entire staff?"

She rolls her eyes as if this is the most inane question she's ever heard.

"For maximum effect! And also because I'm meeting Fred in the common room later and I don't want you ruining the atmosphere with your namby-pamby amateur attempts at being sexy."

"Hey!"

She waves her hand dismissively.

"Face it, you're naïve. Now repeat the game plan, with all points listed in chronological order."

xxx

Oh God, this is the most embarrassing thing I have _ever _done. Like, EVER.

I concentrate on walking in a sultry manner, trying not to trip in Allie's sky-high heels.

I am going to be in _so much _shit. I'm still wearing the school uniform, but Allie's shortened the skirt magically so it now looks like something only a stripper or Amber Nott would wear. In fact it's more like a belt. Actually scratch that. I've worn belts wider than this. And I've had to leave the top few buttons of my shirt open instead of just the first. I can't help but feel really self-conscious (and utterly ridiculous) as people turn to look at me in surprise.

I can see Gerard Wilson leering at me from our table. Cue disgusted shudder.

Allie's already gone ahead and sat down at our usual spot, winking at me encouragingly.

I slide gracefully into the seat next to Tom, straddling the bench and smiling at him in a come-hither way.

He turns to look at me, eyes wide with surprise. That only lasts for a second though- suddenly he's leering at me same as Gerard and about 67 other guys.

Oh God, I think he can see my underwear. Allie made me wear this weird matching black lace set and it's really itchy. I resist the urge to pick at it. God, what I wouldn't give for a comfortable pair of jammies and a timeturner/mass obliviator right now.

"Hey Tom," I let my eyes linger on him, trying not to barf all over his plate.

"Sylvie," he says smoothly, his gaze fixed somewhere to the south of my face (No prizes for guessing where). "You're looking…..different."

"Really?" I say coquettishly, splaying a hand against his leg.

"Really," he leans in closer. "But I happen to like different."

EWW. If he tries to snog me, I will KILL Greengrass. I don't care if they toss me in Azkaban!

Don't get me wrong, I think Tom is good looking but that doesn't mean I want to…you know, do stuff with him.

He's still leaning in and I glance around the great hall desperately, looking for an out.

My eyes land on Potter and Fred Weasley who seem to be watching this episode intently. Potter doesn't look too happy right now, and I have a sinking feeling he knows exactly what I'm up to. He raises his eyebrows when he catches me looking and I scowl and turn back to Baddock.

"So Tom," I begin, my face only inches from his. "Won't it be so _rad _if we're on the team together? Just think of all the….fun we'd have. I know it'll be _hard _with you as captain, but I just can't wait!" I lean back abruptly taking away his bird's eye view down my top. "Though of course I may not be on the team at all. That would be so terrible, don't you think?"

I sigh delicately, trying to look heartbroken.

Suddenly inspired, I reach for a sausage and lick it, letting out a moan of contentment.

"I wish I could have sausages for dessert, they're _so_ good. Don't you think so?"

"Huh," he says intelligently.

I giggle fatuously. I have to get out of here now, I can't handle this!

"You're so funny! Well anyway, I suppose I should go to bed now. Maybe we'll see each other on the pitch….?"

"Bed? What? Can I take you there?"

"Come again?"

_Come again? _Holy hell, I'm as bad as he is. Also, EWWWW.

"No! I meant," he takes a deep breath. "Can I drop you off at your dorm?"

I make a sound that can be misconstrued as giggling, though really I'm just choking on the wad of self-loathing lodged in my throat.

"I'll be fine. You go ahead and finish eating, darling. Toodles!"

I blow him a kiss and skip away from the table, trying my hardest not to run full-pelt.

As I'm hurrying through the doors, I glance back impulsively at the Gryffindor table. Potter's eyes flicker up to meet mine briefly before he looks away and continues his conversation.

Cheeks burning in shame, I leave the room.

xxx

I've only taken one step out of the double doors when I crash into Mcgonagall, on her way to dinner.

Crap!

Her eyes seem to pop out of her head when she takes in my appearance and her cheeks literally drain of colour so she looks more like one of the school ghosts.

"_Ms. Reece_," She hisses,nostrils flaring.

Double Crap!

"This is most inappropriate attire! I would like to remind you that we are running an educational institution of the highest standards, _not_ a brothel. Report to my office at 7 pm every day for the next three weeks, to complete both your current and prior detentions, as received by you on the first day of term. And," she added with one last sweeping look of scorn, "change your clothes."

She gives me one more burning look and glides into the Great Hall, eyes still bugging out in indignation.

I groan and banged my head against the wall.

KILL ME NOW.

By the time I finally trudge into my dorm, I am practically drooping with humiliation and shame.

This had better get me the post or I am SO blowing up the astronomy tower.

I just hope Mcgonagall doesn't write to my psycho grandma about this. She wouldn't just kill me, she'd probably chain me to a whipping post and use all sorts of evil spells on me.

And okay, my mom wouldn't let her do that and neither would my sister.

And I'm pretty sure I can kick the old lady's butt any day….But whatever. She'd find some way to make my life miserable, I'm sure. Like, she'd probably sit me down and give me another twenty lectures on blood purity and then have me write them out in perfect calligraphy.

Stupid Grandma. Stupid Detention. Stupid Quidditch.

This is all Potter's fault! If he wasn't such an arrogant berk I never would have gotten into this mess. This is what I get for getting involved with stupid Gryffindors!

Gaah!

Okay, I'm going to stop thinking about this now.

I collapse on my bed and magic my uniform back to normal, kicking the heels away with an unhealthy amount of vehemence.

I'm asleep before Allie or any of the others return, already dreaming of yummy Honeydukes' chocolate.

xxx

AUUGHH I had the worst dream!

Someone poisoned my lovely chocolate boxes with love potion so I fell in love with Dream-Tom and Dream-Tom was a total sleazeball like Real-Tom and then there was something about Dream-Potter and Dream-Allie hooking up which was really disturbing and then stuff happened which I don't (want to) remember.

It's a Sunday so it's already 12 in the afternoon by the time I roll out of bed.

A single thought filters through my groggy mind: The list was supposed to be up by twelve today!

I sprint out of the dorm, practically flying up the stairs to the Common Room, taking the steps three at a time and skid to a halt in front of the notice board.

I can barely bring myself to look. I steel my nerves and force myself to read:

_Slytherin Quidditch Team:_

_Thomas Baddock- Keeper; Captain; 7th year_

_Allison Greengrass- Seeker; 7th year_

_Beatrice Warrington-Beater; 6th year_

_Heahstan Goyle-Beater;6th year_

_Albus Potter- Chaser; 5th year_

_Scorpius Malfoy- Chaser; 5th year_

_Sylvie Reece- Chaser; 7th year_

I DID IT! I MADE THE TEAM! I'M CHASER!

I'm grinning wildly and I can't help but start jumping on the stupid green couches.

Aaah, it's times like these I wish I could do a cartwheel!

Allie walks through the entrance and rushes up to me. "So you saw the list, I take it?" she laughs.

"YESYESYESYES!"

"You're such an idiot Sylvie," she shakes her head but she's grinning as much as I am.

Oh, that hypocrite!

I grab a cushion and whack her with it, laughing manically.

Her mouth drops open in surprise and she reaches for her own weapon.

"Now you've really done it. THIS IS WAR!" she cries out.

And then it's just a chaotic whirlwind of feathers and flying objects.


	6. The New Professor

Chapter 5: Power to Perversion

I drag my feet as I walk to Mcgonagall's office. Not the headmistress' office of course, the one she uses for transfiguration related stuff- like punishing naughty students.

Kinky.

I knock on her door, hoping she isn't in.

"Enter."

Damn.

I sit down at one of the desks and drop my satchel on the floor. I've made sure that my skirt is longer than usual today. It reaches all the way till my knees!

"Ms. Reece," McG straightens her glasses and pins me with a severe look. "I know that you are a growing girl and as such may have…urges. However, I expect you to conduct yourself with the utmost decorum while still a student at Hogwarts."

Oh God. She's not going to lecture me about hormones and 'urges' for two hours is she?

PLEASE NO! Kill me instead!

I'd rather be suspended by the ankles in the dungeon then have to sit through this. At least it would make Filch happy and Lord knows that man needs cheering up. Did you know Filch's last name is Norris? Which makes the fact that he names all his cats Mrs. Norris really creepy. To each his own, I suppose.

Prof. McG is saying something about the state of my hormones and the disruptive behavior they induce but I'm only half listening. McG may be cool, but she's still basically just an old lady sometimes. Like, right now. I wish she were my grandma though.

Though if she was my Grandma, would I somehow be in Gryffindor? That would be weird.

I mean I suppose it wouldn't be too bad. And some of the kids in there are actually quite decent. Like Rose Weasley!

"….and skirts must be at most two inches above the knee and you must always…"

I think Rose is brilliant. She's actually quite smart and unlike other Gryffies, isn't even prejudiced against Slytherins. I've long suspected there's been something going on between her and that Scorpius kid but I'm not too sure. I wonder what her cousins would think of that. James especially, he's such a tart when it comes to stuff like this. I bet he'd blow a gasket, whatever that is.

"….between you and Mr. Baddock and I find it is most inappropriate while still at school…."

Woah woah, back up the wagon, Bucko!

Does McG think Tom and I are getting it on?

That's so gross. I don't want to put myself at risk of disease.

I clear my throat. "Professor McG? I don't like Tom that way."

If it were me, I'd have said 'What way do you like it then?' while making suggestive facial expressions. But since this is Mcgonagall all she says is "I see."

And then she just CONTINUES as if I haven't even said anything. Honestly!

I wonder how many people she's given this lecture to. Probably that Amber Nott for sure. Amber is such a slut. She's like the Slytherin Slattern.

"…perhaps after you graduate you could focus your attention on wizards rather than education but that is not advisable…."

Seriously, I have the worst luck.

This one time in fifth year I set fire to Doug Matthew's socks when he tried to swipe my Fizzing Whizbees and even though there was no possible way she could have seen me, McGonagall (who still teaches regularly even though she's the headmistress and about 729 years old) gave me detention for a week! A _week! _Just for setting a measly pair of _socks _on fire. It's not as if I suspended the bloke from one of the chandeliers in the great hall like Potter did to that Scamander kid.

Quite a scandal it was too. Apparently Potter is very protective of his siblings and didn't appreciate Lorcan's advances as much as Lily did. Personally I think Lily and Lorcan are cute together. They're like the resident Raveclaw 'it' couple. But then, even Filch's relationship with his cat doesn't bother me so maybe I'm not the best authority on this.

Finally at quarter past eight, McGonagall throws me out of her room and I stagger towards the dungeon ready to stab myself to death with my transfiguration textbook. It's in this state that I am found by my favourite Hogwarts resident of all time: Peeves.

He swoops through a painting of a bunch of somber looking wizards playing cards and they dive under their table as he whooshes by them, cackling and pirouetting.

"Well, Well, Well. Lookie here! If it isn't wittle Sylvie in twubble again!"

"Peeves!" I shout joyfully.

I LOVE Peeves. He and I have reached an understanding over my years at Hogwarts and we respect each other as troublemakers in our own right.

I can never be as brilliant as him of course, but I do try.

(Like that time in 5th year when Allie and I charmed all the silverware in the Great Hall to attack Professor Blishwick and chase him out of the castle. We didn't even get into trouble for that one because even the teachers hate Blishwick. Even though he teaches defence, everyone is fairly sure that he was one of the nastier death eaters back in the day. How he managed to evade Azkaban is unclear.)

"I got you the multiplying dungbombs. They're in my trunk. You remember our deal right?" I narrow my eyes suspiciously. Peeves, hanging upside down from the chandelier, nods vigorously.

I have this awesome deal with Peeves where I smuggle illegal objects into the castle and trade them with Peeves. In exchange, he agrees to torment any person I choose for a day.

Haah. No one crosses Sylvie, Bad Ass of Slytherin. McLaggen actually ended up in the hospital wing for two weeks once Peeves was through with him. According to Madam Pomfrey he kept babbling about potted ferns and Fanged Frisbees; Interesting combination.

Peeves dashes through the wall, probably to retrieve the dungbombs and I decide against staying in the castle. I'm not entirely sure which part he's going to be bombing.

xxx

Once on the grounds I decide I may as well practice my catching skills. I mean, if I'm going to be on the team then I'll have to actually _play _matches. As in, participate. And I'm completely screwed if I fall off my broom every time someone tosses me the quaffle.

Picking out a broom from the shed, I kick off smoothly. The night air is cool, the wind lifting my hair and blowing all thoughts of detention out of my head.

Wow. I can really get used to this.

I try tossing the quaffle in the air and catching it normally but that doesn't really work: It always just falls right back into my hands. And if it does manage to go a little way off, it's not much use to me if I can't get it to build up the right momentum.

I'm thinking of charming the quaffle to fly at me and wondering if it's illegal to put a spell on one when I hear a sound behind me as if someone is approaching.

I spin around quickly, nearly losing my balance and see someone else flying over towards me. It's a bit hard to tell who it is in the dark though.

My hand twitches towards my wand out of habit and I draw it quickly. Just in case.

"Relax," says a deep voice. "I'm not going to curse you off your broom Reece."

Aah, the venom in that 'Reece'! It can only be Sir Potter.

"What are you doing here?" I demand.

Oh God, I hope he's not planning on staying. He'll discover my abysmal skills for sure.

"I could ask you the same question," comes the reply.

"I'm practicing. Now if you'll excuse-"

"Alone?"

He sounds surprised. I can see him now that he's closer. His hair is as windswept as ever, sticking up at the back and his eyes seem almost black in the dim light. The moon highlights the angles of his face perfectly, giving it a sort of ethereal glow. I realize I'm technically checking him out but continue shamelessly. Checking Potter out is always fun.

"Yes, alone. At least I _was_ until you interrupted me."

"Let's see what you can do then." He grins at me cheekily and swipes the quaffle away, twirling it on his finger as if it's a muggle basketball.

Twerp.

He tosses it to me and it's almost as if it's moving in slow motion.

I can see my life flash before my eyes!

Well, okay not really. But still.

I try my hardest to catch it, even scooting forward on my broom a bit, but it still slips though my fingers and spirals towards the ground.

Damn damn damn!

I peek up at Potter discreetly. He's staring at me intently and I can't help but wonder what he's thinking; probably something along the lines of 'wow-this-chick-really-sucks-how-the-hell-did-she-end-up-on-the-team?'

"Your grip is wrong," he says abruptly.

"What?"

"Your grip. You're holding your broom too tightly and you need to sit further back."

I glance down at my hands, confused. Nobody's pointed this out to me, not even Allie.

I loosen my grip and try to shuffle backwards on my broom. Needless to say, it doesn't work.

Potter shakes his head and flies to the ground, motioning for me to follow. I disembark and stand awkwardly by my broom, waiting for him to speak first.

"You have to trust your broom. What model is this?"

He grabs my broom and flips it over, squinting at the handle.

"A Nimbus 2000? That's over 30 years old! What are you doing with this junk?" He asks incredulously.

"I know it's a hunk-a-junk, it's a school broom. I…er…I don't own a broom," I admit somewhat sheepishly.

"You don't own a broom," he echoes hollowly. "You're on the Quidditch team and you don't own a broom?"

"Well I didn't _know _I was going to be on the Quidditch team when term started," I say defensively.

"Really," he sneers. "It seemed like you more or less had a guaranteed place judging by your _performance _last night_."_

I can feel my cheeks turning red with a mix of humiliation and embarrassment.

"Y-you saw that?"

"Who _didn't _see that? The Great Hall isn't exactly the most inconspicuous place to conduct activities of that nature," he says dryly.

I look up at him wondering if he despises me for my underhanded scheme, unsure of why I even care.

"I'm not a bad chaser," I mumble half-heartedly.

"I know that."

My head jerks up sharply. "You do?"

He shrugs like it's no big deal. "Yeah I saw you tryout from the Gryffindor tower. You and that Wilson bloke were the best. Four out of five is pretty good, I probably would have put you on the team myself."

Woah. Is Potter being _nice_ to me?

"Are you being _nice_ to me?"

"Hey I'm not a bad guy!" he says indignantly. He adds thoughtfully, "I'm in Gryffindor, I don't think I _can _be a bad guy."

I scoff at that statement.

"That's ridiculous! What about that bloke, your grandfather's friend. Pettigrew, was it?"

He looks surprised. "Been reading up on your history? Well, I concede that point to you. That guy was a complete twat."

I roll my eyes. He's talking as if he was there.

"Anyway, weren't you teaching me something?"

"Oh yeah." He messes up his hair and hands me the school broom.

"Get on the broom and grip it tightly with your fingers."

Oh God, now all I can think of are broomstick jokes.

I giggle and try to mask it by coughing.

He glares at me suspiciously then continues.

"Right, so you have to straddle the broom just right otherwise it's no good, you won't be able to perform properly and- _why are you laughing?_"

His exasperated tone sends me into fresh peals of laughter.

"Sorry Sir Potter," I mock-salute him and try to keep a straight face. "I'll make sure to ride the broom _just _right. In fact maybe we should try different positions, to see which works best."

I start laughing again and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards as he catches on.

"Anything as long as you keep your broom well serviced."

And then we're both laughing like a couple of idiots.

I grin at him in the silence that follows, tucking my hair behind my ear to stop it poking me in the eye.

James chuckles and gives me an appraising look. "You're different, you know," he says slowly, looking suddenly thoughtful.

Umm, okay. Different. The last guy to tell me I'm 'different' was Baddock and that was while I was seducing him. Euaarghh bad memories. I so know what I'm going to see if I am ever faced by a dementor/boggart.

"What do you mean?" I ask, wondering if I should be nervous. Because I am.

James seems to hesitate before answering. "No, it's just…I thought you'd be more stuck-up, you know?"

I raise an eyebrow, trying to look offended. "Because I'm a Slytherin?"

"Well," he says, no further signs of hesitation detectable, "yeah. Pretty much."

I spend five seconds scoffing at this then give up, realizing it's not worth the effort. I mean, he's not exactly wrong is he? Judgemental, yes. Wrong, nope.

"Ah, well," I say, shrugging. I glance up at the cloudless night sky critically. "Race me?"

He grins confidently. "You're on."


	7. Oh, Merlin

Chapter 6: The New Potions Professor

I tucked my hair behind my ears for the umpteenth time, wishing I'd brought a hair tie.

Potter and I were still on the pitch even though it was getting on for time and we had classes in the morning.

So far, all his advice and tips had been helpful and I could already catch most shots.

To help me practice, he'd made me play Keeper and catch the quaffle as he tried to score. I'm pretty sure he was holding back though because I'm a pretty sucky keeper (Most of the shots I block are with my head. By accident. Not fun.)

It's as we're trudging back to the castle, muddy and sore, that I finally turn to him and ask "Why are you helping me anyway?"

He shrugs, not slowing down or looking at me. "I don't know myself. I guess I just can't shun a fellow Quidditch player."

I snorted. "I guess that's a Gryffindor thing."

"Must be."

"Really though, I got the impression you don't really like me. I mean, that time when you left me petrified on the floor?"

"Oh yeah," he looked embarrassed and mussed up his hair again, something he seemed to do when he was nervous or excited. It was quite endearing. "Sorry about that. I only thought about it once I'd reached the tower and I figured you'd have freed yourself by then."

"I stood there for three hours," I say dryly.

He stops, taken aback and finally looks at me.

"Shite! I'm really sorry. I didn't realize. It was a stupid thing to do."

"S'alright" I say charitably. "I suppose it was an experience."

He grins wickedly. "So if I put you under a body bind and suspend you from the ceiling, you'll write it off as an experience?"

"I doubt you'd have the balls to even attempt such a thing," I say seriously.

He nods acquiescingly.

"True enough."

We reach the point where our paths diverge and turn to face each other awkwardly.

"Well-"

"So-"

We speak at the same time.

"Goodnight then," I say warmly, smiling at him gratefully. "I really appreciate your help."

He nods in acknowledgement. "You're welcome. Uh, thanks I guess. It was fun. See you around Sylvie."

He turns and walks away and is already around the corner by the time I realize that he'd called me by my name and that he hadn't actually answered my second question. Why did he seem to hate me most of the time?

xxx

God, I'm so sleepy. This is just ridiculous.

There is no way I'm going to be able to complete that essay on Gamp's law of transfiguration by lunchtime when all I want to do is collapse on the edge of the Great Lake and soak up the sun or chat with the giant squid or something.

"This is your own fault," Allie reminds me exasperatedly as I moan about it for the umpteenth time. "You should have done it over the weekend."

"Who studies over the weekend!" I say incredulously. How could she even suggest such an abominable thing? Does she even know me at all? "Weekends are for fun," I say firmly.

"Right. Fun with sports and boys who play sports."

"Exactly."

We take our places at the half-filled table and I reach for some muffins.

Nothing can promise a great day like muffins can!

Just as I'm reaching for the bacon, two screech owls land in front of me, knocking the plate over.

Great, mail's here. Dozens of owls flock into the hall landing in front of their intended recipients.

Potter's got a letter of course. Seriously, his mummy sends him letters like thrice a week or something.

He sees me looking and nods at me courteously as if we're from the sixteenth century or something where people interact only through formal nods and many 'thee's and 'thou's.

I take my two letters from the owls and they take off instantly, pausing only for a nibble of the bacon.

I feel an impending sense of doom as I open the first letter: It's from Nana.

_Sylvie._

_I hear you've already managed to earn yourself three weeks of detention._

_Must I constantly impress upon you the importance of having a pristine reputation?_

_As one of the older pureblood families we are still under careful scrutiny of the Ministry as you are undoubtedly aware._

_The war may be over, but the battle is not!- Or whatever that horrid muggle phrase is._

_At any rate, I expect you to reply with a full explanation of the events which led up to your castigation._

_Mark my word, young lady, one more toe out of line and I will whisk you away from that school and marry you off to some rich pureblood boy!_

_Lots of Love,_

_Nana._

_(Are you coming home for Christmas?)_

Okay, my grandma is a total nutter.

I think in her head, it's still 1998 or whatever. The ministry couldn't care less what the pureblood families are up to.

I unfold the other letter. Oh, goodie, It's from Cerys!

Cerys is my sister and we get along brilliantly now that's she's graduated.

_Sylvie!_

_How are you holding up? Heard about your detentions._

_Way to go, Nana's all puffed up about it now. Won't leave us alone._

_I swear to Merlin, if that lady doesn't stop badgering me, I'm going to go crazy and Avada the bloody- you get my point, I'm sure._

_Anyway, I couldn't care less what you got it for, as long as it's not illicit rendezvous in broom closets with hormonal teenage boys._

_Though I suppose I wouldn't mind if it was a Gryffindor, that would absolutely kill Nana and then we'd finally be rid of her._

_Oh well,_

_Toodle-oo!_

_Write me, toots._

_(Are you coming home for Christmas? I think Nana's staying over then. If I were you, I'd go to the Greengrass'.)_

I tuck my letters into my bag and ravage my muffin happily.

God, muffins are SO good, they should be illegal. In fact, all baked goods should be illegal.

Though if they were, I would go to Azkaban a happy girl.

I'm not really sure if I can go over to Allie's for Christmas. Her home situation is a bit delicate. Her mother, Daphne is a single mom and always seems to have a new boyfriend every time I meet her. She's nice and all but she's a bit irresponsible. For all I know, they'll be taking off to Egypt or something over break.

We finish our breakfast and move out of the great hall.

"What class have we got now?"

"Double Potions. Wonder who the new teacher is. D'you reckon he's come yet?"

I shrug. "Maybe. I hope so, last week was terrible with Blishwick taking over the classes."

We direct our steps towards the dungeons and file in with the rest of the class.

Unsure of how strict the new professor will be, we sit in our seats rather than lounge about on the desks or, in some cases, the floor.

We can hear the footsteps echoing as the Professor walks down the corridor and enters the class, shutting the door with a bang. He walks to the front of the room, his cloak swirling behind him ominously and turns on his heel, whipping around to face the class.

He's middle aged and good looking with blonde hair and stubble and a face that looks much too familiar…

"My name is Draco Malfoy and I will be teaching you lot Potions this year. Any questions?"


	8. The Three Broomsticks

Chapter 8: The Three Broomsticks

Sigh.

I'm so BORED. There is absolutely _nothing _going on. The past week was just a blur of unfinished essays and crappy tests that are better off as flobberworm chow. You'd think living in a magical castle filled with ghosts, secret passageways and fantastic beasts would be a lot more interesting. But apparently one can adjust to and get bored of _anything _over a span of seven years.

I wonder how Hogwarts teachers do it. I mean they spend seven years in school like the rest of us, and then come back and teach here for the next sixty years? What's the deal with that? How do you stay in school forever? God forbid that ever happens to me, I'll _confringo _myself. Or something.

The worst part is, Araminta Borgin who was Slytherin prefect got into a nasty bit of trouble for hexing some Ravenclaw kid, making his pants sprout tentacles and choke him. He ended up in the hospital wing and she got stripped of her post. And guess who they made prefect in her stead? Allie.

And while this is great for Allie and will look great on her resume or whatever, she's so busy that this leaves me with virtually no one to hang with. Don't get me wrong; I'm not unpopular or anything, it's just that we Slytherins tend to keep to ourselves and because me and Allie are such cynical old biddies, we don't mix well with the rest of the girls in our house(and our dorm, in particular.)

Seriously, not when we have biaozhes(=bitches) like Amber Nott and Araminta Borgin in our dorm. As I've probably already made clear, Amber is really popular with the male population of Hogwarts and makes sure that fact is well known and Araminta is just a nasty piece of work who likes hexing innocent bystanders during a duel because '_it's really funny watching them squeal in fear and pee their pants_'.

Then there's Emma Carroll but nobody ever really talks to Emma Carroll because she's more introverted than my left sock. At least my left sock has my right sock for company.

Did I mention it's a Hogsmeade weeked? And that I'm going alone?

Because it's a Hogsmeade weekend. And I'm GOING ALONE.

I have no life.

xxx

It's halfway through September and already beginning to turn chilly so I've donned a pair of boots with my jeans and light sweater and have happily applied a layer of this fantastic stuff called Kaajal on my lower lids. I think I borrowed it from that Indian girl in Ravenclaw at a party last year and forgot to give it back. Oh well.

I stomp most of the way to the village, feeling more than a little upset about having to go by myself. Allie's got a date and obviously I wasn't invited. Though if I were I imagine the date would go something like this:

_Allie: Oh Fred, your eyes enchant me so._

_Fred: Allie, you are the reason my heart beats. I love you!_

_Sylvie: God, these nachos are great!_

_Allie: Fred, kiss me!_

_Fred: Yes, my love!_

_Sylvie: I'm getting more nachos. You guys want more nachos?_

So yeah, I think I may be better off stomping my lonely way through Hogsmeade.

I visit Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and restock my supply of skiving snackboxes. They have this fantastic new flavor called Conflagration Candies; they actually make you breath fire! Which you know, while not the most natural excuse to skip class, is probably the most effective.

I leave the shop laden with lots of unnecessary merchandise which I probably shouldn't have bought and head for the Three Broomsticks for a lonely drink, making sure to give Madam Puddifoot's a wide berth. _Why _that place hasn't been shut down by the sanitation department is beyond me. There's way too much saliva swapping and face-eating going on in there. It's probably a great place to catch a communicable disease though, if you're into that sort of thing.

I enter the pub, looking around in dismay at the packed tables. I can only see one free chair and that's between a woman who seems somehow to have managed to sprout an extra head and a man holding a metal box that rattles every few seconds and emits a keening sound.

I'm considering turning around and trying the Hog's Head when I spot Rose waving her arm at me from a few tables away. I thread my way through the throng, apologizing every so often as I knock someone into their plate of food or step on someone else's foot.

The table is pretty full. There's Rose, Scorpius, Albus, Dominique, that kid Louis, and Potter. Rose scoots over happily, her left side pressed against Scorpius and I take the seat warily. Nobody looks too thrilled to see me. Potter just nods at me again and offers me a half-smile and Rose and Scorpius look positively ecstatic but I'm pretty sure that's because of their proximity to each other, not to me.

I wonder how the others can fail to see how in love/lust with each other these two are. I mean, they're literally joined at the hip right now. That Scorpius is a sneaky one, using Al as an excuse to sit with Rose. I should ask him for tips, except I'm such a loser that I'd have nobody to use them on.

"Hey Sylvie!" Rose greets me happily and turns to the others. "Guys this is Sylvie Reece. She's in Slytherin and pretty decent, I think you guys'll like her."

Pretty decent? Thanks kid, that compliment _really _made my day.

"We've met," Potter says dryly.

I look at him and offer a smarmy smile. May as well have some fun. "Hello Jamesy. How are you this fine evening? Enjoying yourself, I hope?"

"Everything's just peachy thanks," he replies, his tone matching mine. "And yourself?"

"Oh marvelous! Simply _fantastic._ I think the weather at this time of the year is particularly quixotic."

What does quixotic mean? And where the hell did I get that word?

Dominique Weasley, who I think is part veela, rolls her eyes at us and stands up. "I'm getting more butterbeer. Fork over the sickles, children."

There's a general murmur of protest at being referred to as 'children' by a fifth year as we all fork over three sickles. She flips her hair dramatically and strides off towards the bar. The rest of us just stare at each other and fiddle with random objects.

"_So…_" Albus breaks the awkward silence she's left in her wake. "Any juicy gossip haunting the halls of Hogwarts?"

Rose widens her eyes at me and I nod my head slightly. She smiles almost imperceptibly and I roll my eyes giving her a 'trust me' look. She winks and I'm just about to reciprocate with one of my own when Potter interrupts us with a sharp "What are you two doing?" He's looking between us suspiciously, as if trying to decipher our fantastic girl code. Haah. Good luck with _that, _buddy.

"Nothing," we say together, with matching looks of innocuous surprise on our faces. We burst out giggling and James just sighs exasperatedly and turns away. Tut. Rude-o.

He looks pretty bored. We're kind of in the same situation, I guess. Our best friends just happen to be enjoying a romantic get together while the two of us are sharing a table with a bunch of fifth years and one fourth year.

Dominique returns at this point, levitating bottles of butterbeer in front of her. We each take one and chorus our thanks.

As I look around the table, I realize Scorpius and I are pretty much crashing a family reunion or whatever. I mean , okay so he's having eye sex with one of the members of the Potter-Weasley clan (and I ain't talkin 'bout Louis here) so I suppose it's just me who's the outcast. Gurrgh.

"I have to use the washroom," Rose says abruptly.

"Me too." Scorpius throws down his napkin and follows Rose out of the booth.

Can they be any more obvious? Albus' cheeks have coloured up and Dom is smirking knowingly but Sir Potter and Louis are just sitting there, completely oblivious. How thick can you get? I bet they wouldn't realize the two were together even if they started snogging right here at the table, in full view of the general public. They'd probably think they were helping each other avoid the fly buzzing around by sealing each other's mouths.

Idiots.

Albus stands up, his cheeks still flushed. "I have to go to the washroom as well. I'll be right back."

Dom narrows her eyes at him and jerks her head sideways. He ignores her and hurries away and she stands up and follows without so much as an excuse.

Greaaaat. Now it's just me, Louis and Potter. Okay wait, scratch that last bit. Louis just mumbled some excuse about having spotted some of his friends and now he's gone off to another table. He practically ran, the silly little twit.

WHY IS EVERYONE LEAVING!

Potter and I look at each other awkwardly.

"I-"

"Should we-"

I shut my mouth and wait for him to continue. Why do we always start talking at the same bloody time?

"D'you want to leave?" he mumbles.

I nod. May as well. It feels way too much like a date with the two of us sitting here by ourselves.

We collect our belongings and walk out the door. The change in temperature is a relief. It was pretty stifling inside the crowded pub.

Once outside, James turns to me and I look up at him, towering over me by half a foot, at least.

"_So,_" he says, rocking back on his heels, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. "What do we do now?"

I slowly release the breath I've been holding. It's going to be a long day.


	9. Hogsmeade

Chapter 9: Dress Shopping? Seriously?

We've been walking around for ten minutes and haven't exchanged a single word. This is so awkward. There are all these happy couples and groups of friends roaming around and then there are the two of us at the other end of the spectrum. I mean we're not even _talking._

I may have been better off in the castle or lurking under Fred and Allie's table in Madam Puddifoot's.

I shift the heavy Weasley's packet to my left hand and shake my sore arm. This thing weighs a bloody ton! Potter apparently notices my predicament and gallantly offers his assistance, like the chivalrous gentleman he is.

"Give that here, you're going to fall over any second and I'm not carrying you back to the castle. You probably weigh more than a hippogriff."

"You stupid little- I can carry it myse-" He cuts me off by snatching the packet away from me.

God, just look at him, walking along like it weighs absolutely nothing! I've been lugging that thing around for ages I _know_it weighs a lot. But it may as well be filled with helium for all the effect it's having on him. Pillock.

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be chivalrous," I complain.

"They're also supposed to have daring and nerve. I rather think I meet the criteria."

I mumble something incoherent at him. I'm a little worried that I want to hit him so badly right now; what if I'm one of those abusive numpties who go around beating up their boyfriends because they forgot to use a coaster and left water rings on the glass table? How will I ever get married? Then Nana will marry me off to some hideous stuffy old pureblood and our kids will have major issues because of generations of inbreeding and racism. I'm doomed.

Potter tugs on my sleeve suddenly. "Let's go in here." I turn to my right and stare for a full ten seconds at the pretty display of _Robes and Ribbons._

"You want to go…into a dress shop," I state flatly.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Yes, okay? Just come in for a second."

"I didn't know you batted for the other team Potter," I say conversationally as the door swings open, tinkling bells and all. "It's all cool of course, except I think your fan girls may be a bit disappointed. So were you looking for a lovely pink dress, with a frilly bodice perhaps? Romantic Rendezvous in the Astronomy tower?"

He turns to me and scowls. "Do you ever say anything that actually makes any sense? I need to buy a gift for Rose. Her birthday's on the 20th."

Oh.

"And you're getting her a dress….why?"

"Because it's either this or books and Rosie's forbidden us all to get her books for her birthday. I think it's because she received six copies of _Jinxes for the Jinxed_last time."

I look warily around the shop. There are frills and lace bursting out from every corner, like colourful bushes, interspersed with ribbons and cute buttons. The shopkeeper is asleep behind the counter. I think she'd be rather glad if someone actually nicked any of this stuff. This place is scarier than a clown shop; a clown shop filled with _clowns!_

Intervention time.

"Right," I say bossily. "You can't get her anything from _here._She'll hate you forever. Come with me."

I grab his hand and drag him out of hell's gate, the stupid bell tinkling again. A little voice chirps 'Thanks for visiting!' as we barge out. I cannot get out of here fast enough.

I tow him behind me as I step out into the alley, looking around for the shop Allie always goes to. Usually it's me who's being dragged along to this shop so I find this a nice change of pace. A couple of right turns later we're standing in front of _Maison de Cuir-_which basically translates into House of Leather. (What? The dramatic effect is lost in translation okay?)

I drag him in and realize I'm still holding his hand. I drop it hastily. Don't want him (or me) getting any ideas.

He looks around the place skeptically. "Are you sure we'll find something here? It seems a bit…I dunno, I think Rosie's too young for this sort of stuff."

Yeah and she's too young to be shagging boys as well. But does that stop her? No.

I look proudly around the shop. It seems understated in a classy way after the horrors of Pinky Twinkles or whatever that other place was called. The dresses lining the racks sit demurely in their places, not encroaching on the aisles with puffy skirts wider than doorways and I can't see a single frill or scrap of lace anywhere.

"Now," I say turning to him. "What's your budget? I reckon we can get some really good stuff even if you can't spend all that much."

He scratches his head, looking bemused. "Would 60 galleons be enough?"

My mouth drops open. "Will they be _enough_? I think you'll find that'll be more than enough Potter." I shake my head sadly. "You really are clueless aren't you?"

"Well sorry, if my dress shopping expertise isn't up to your lofty standards."

Seriously, who spends 60 galleons on a gift? These Potters have way too much money.

"Whatever. Follow me!"

I stride over to the nearest rack and rifle through it, pulling out a couple of dresses. "What about something like this? You don't want it to clash with her red hair." I hold up a thin black dress for inspection.

"Wha-? No! That's too skimpy! Uncle Ron will kill me if I give his daughter clothes like that. And anyway," he adds, "I don't even know if it'll fit her. How am I supposed to get the right size?"

I pursed my lips and stared at the dress in my hands. Would it fit Rose? I tried to imagine it on her and failed miserably. If only we had someone her size around. As this thought strikes me, I look up at James. He's staring at me weirdly as if he's only just seen me.

"You're a girl," he blurts out.

Umm...okay.

I look nervously around the shop. Where is the damned sales assistant? Potter seems to be having a mental breakdown and I'm suing these people if he murders me in their store.

"Yes," I say slowly. "I am a girl. And you are a boy."

He grabs my shoulders and shakes me a little. "You're a girl. And you're the same size as Rose. You can try on the dresses! Then we'll be able to see which one fits the best. Problem solved!"

He grins at me beatifically, as if he's discovered the meaning of life and has reached the state of Nirvana, all due to his vast intellect and charming personality.

I, on the other hand, remain unconvinced. "Listen," I say quickly. "That's a stupid idea. It makes no sense. I look nothing like Rose, I have brown hair, not red. And I'm taller than her too. Just by two inches but that's important, okay! And I'm fairly sure I have bigger-er- stuff. And I hate trying on dresses, it takes ages and half of them are so itchy!"

He just ignores my rant, shoves a bunch of random dresses into my arms and propels me towards the dressing rooms. "Do this for me and I'll buy you whatever you want from Honeydukes. Deal?"

I pout moodily. "Anything? Like even chocolate cauldrons? The ones with the firewhisky in them?"

"Yes. Even them."

I shrug. "In that case, you got yourself a deal." Hey, I never said I wasn't a cheap bargain.

I chuck the dresses into the trial room and leap in after them, tugging the curtain closed. Right. Let's see what we have here, then. I pick up the first dress and slip into it, tugging off my jeans and sweater first. I turn to the mirror and the first thing I notice is that it's short. Really short. It's a virulent pink halter and clings much too tightly to my frame.

"Are you done in there?" Potter calls out.

Git.

I step out hesitantly, keeping an eye on his face for a reaction: It colours instantly and he coughs discreetly into his hand. "Not that one. Try again."

I duck back into the room, hastily closing the curtain.

Damn, all these dresses are slutty. I've just realized what a weird outing this is for two people who barely interact with each other. I pick up a second one and wriggle into it. This one fits better. It's black with a semi-poofy skirt and a green sash tied round the middle. I step out more confidently this time and even give a mini-twirl. "What do you think?"

"Not bad. Not bad." He says, stroking his chin. I think he's trying to look like a dress connoisseur or something. Wazzock. "One more!" He waves his hand in the general direction of the trial room and I step back in.

I've just slipped off the dress when I suddenly feel a draft against my bare skin.

Oh no, I didn't.

Did I?

I turn around slowly, peeking over my shoulder.

I did.

I DID.

I forgot to close the bloody curtain.

I catch a glimpse of Potter's tomato red face and wide eyes before I yank the curtain shut forcefully. Shite! I can't believe I just flashed Potter my undies! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. This is so embarrassing! He's never going to let me forget this, I bet. I'm so glad I was wearing a good set today, though. What if I was wearing that hideous white one with the pink balloons on it and- UGH. What am I thinking? This is so WRONG. There is something very wrong with me mentally. A bloke who I've only just become acquainted with saw me in my knickers and all I can think about is whether they were nice knickers or not. I'm slowly heading down the Amber Nott path. My family will disown me and I'll end up living in a trailer park with a drunk muggle and his beer belly.

Face and neck flaming, I slip on the last dress and step out anyway. I did promise to help him and maybe if I pretend nothing happened, it'll _be_ like nothing happened.

"Well?" I ask shortly. I don't even recall what this dress looks like, I barely glanced in the mirror.

Potter tugs at his collar and stares at me. What? What's wrong with it? Am I flashing him again? I look down hastily and am instantly impressed with the dress. It's silvery-grey with thin straps and a very deep V-neck, a wide belt of fabric clinching it right under my chest. It flows till mid-thigh and I can totally imagine it with a sexy pair of silver heels. I think this sort of dress probably has a proper name for it but since I'm not exactly well versed in fashion lingo, I'm just gonna call it the Hot-Dang Dress.

Potter clears his throat. "Umm I don't think- I mean, that's a beautiful dress but-" He breathes in slowly."Maybe not for Rose. How about we get the second one?"

I shrug. "Alright, then. I'll just go change."

I go back inside, shutting the curtain behind me securely. I stare at the Hot-Dang Dress as I change back into my normal clothes. I can't just not buy it! It's too perfect! It cannot be left behind to rot in the _Maison de Cuir_, much like you wouldn't leave behind a fallen comrade during a battle. (Well, not exactly like that I suppose, but you get the point, I'm sure.)

Once I'm out, I hand Potter the black dress and he forks over 20 galleons to the cash register which must be magically managed because there doesn't seem to be anyone in the shop except for us. I guess there must be anti-theft wards up or something if the shop-owners seem so cavalier about their security arrangements.

He looks surprised when I buy the HDD but doesn't say anything. I sneak a glance at him and jump a little when I see him looking right back at me. We both hastily turn to look at opposite ends of the store as the cash register churns out my bill and dings happily.

We leave the store, and I'm surprised to note that it's already four in the afternoon. Damn, we didn't have any lunch. I don't think butterbeer counts. I'm beginning to relax slowly. He's obviously not going to bring up the Trial Room Incident (TRI). In fact, I'm positively sure of it when he says suddenly-

"I didn't peg you as one to wear red knickers. Very commendable taste in underwear, I must say."

"POTTER!" I screech.

He's laughing openly in my face! Berk!

I whack him across the head and turn to stomp away.

He's still laughing as he reaches out and catches hold of my wrist. "Wait up, Sylvie. I promised you something remember?"

"What?" I snap at him angrily.

He grins at me. "Well, I _was_going to buy you those Firewhisky Cauldrons but I suppose if you'd rather go back to the castle on your own…." He trails off.

Damn. He's got me there. There's no way I'm giving up my reward.

"Fine, _James._Lead the way. But I'm warning you, _one_more joke about my knickers and I _will_throttle you."

We stroll back to the centre of the village, bickering and insulting each other, with me trying very very hard to ignore the burning warmth of his hand on my wrist and the fast beating of my heart, hammering harder against my chest than it ever has.


	10. Captains & Confrontations

Chapter 10:

Quidditch practice is going to be the death of me.

It's absolutely insane! We've been practicing for two hours already and I'm muddy and tired and sore and all I want to do is sleep for the next three days. Even though my detentions with McGonagall are over, there's still too much to do and not enough time.

"Reece!" I look up and catch the Quaffle flying towards me. Thank God for that. The practice session with Potter helped me more than I'd care to admit. I can actually catch the Quaffle 8 times out of 10 now. _Without_falling off my broom.

I pass the Quaffle to Scorpius and look longingly towards the lake. Somewhere beneath its sinister depths is the Slytherin Common Room….with my ultra comfortable bed….and my yummy pillow…

"REECE!" My eyes jerk open and I hastily duck to avoid the bludger.

Tom flies over to me, looking angry. "Keep your head in the game, Reece. You fall asleep on the pitch, you die," he says brutally. "First game is in two weeks and trust me when I say Ravenclaw won't be easy."

I mumble an apology. "Can't we stop now? I think we've had enough for today, Tom."

The others chorus their agreement.

"Seriously Baddock. That's enough for one day," Albus says firmly.

"Fine." There's a hard set to Tom's jaw as he says this and he's clearly not happy about having to call off the practice early. "Thursday, same time. Don't be late."

The sighs of relief are mixed with groans as we all touch down and get off our brooms.

I'm heading towards the changing rooms with the rest of them when Tom says-

"Sylvie, stay back for a second."

Warily, I trudge back and stop in front of him. "What is it?"

"You're not at the same level as the rest of the team yet and you need private sessions if you're going to catch up." He cuts me off as I open my mouth to protest. "I know it's not your fault, the others have been playing for ages and this is just your first time on a team. But I don't want to lose to Gryffindor. D'you get me? Potter will be unbearable if he gets the trophy again this year."

I sigh dejectedly. "Fine. So what do we do?"

"We practice. Think of it as Remedial Quidditch. Meet me on the pitch tomorrow."

"Aye aye Cap'n." I mutter sarcastically and march off to have a hot shower.

xxx

"Sylvie! Wait up!"

I turn around and see Rose running through the corridors towards me and Allie. She skids to a halt in front of us, cheeks flushed and panting heavily.

"I've been chasing you for the last five minutes! Merlin, woman! Are you deaf?"

"Sorry," I say, offering her a smile. "So what's up?"

"My birthday is on the 20th and my annoying siblings have decided to host a party in the Room of Requirement. So I figure I may as well invite some people I actually like. You'll come won't you?" she grins at me and clasps my hands excitedly.

I almost laugh at her enthusiasm. "Of course I will! As long as nobody hexes me for being there," I add, grimacing at the thought of being alone at a party consisting primarily of Gryffindors.

"They won't," she assures me, turning to Allie. "And you'll come as well won't you? I don't want to deprive Fred of your company, he gets all cranky. If you're not there, he'll probably get drunk and bored and fall into the lake. I don't fancy spending my first day as a sixteen year old combing the lake for my brother's dead body."

"Erm." Allie looks a bit overwhelmed. I thought she'd be used to mindless babbling by now considering we've been friends for seven years. "Sure, I'll come!" Sshe says finally.

Rose grins at us. "Great. See you there then. Wear something nice. Oh, and bring a date if you want!"

She waves at us and sprints away again, having spotted someone else in the crowd.

"So how is it going with Freddie?" I ask Allie. I really haven't been seeing too much of her lately. It's a bit worrying.

"Brilliant." Her smile is so wide, it's blinding me. How can Allie be so different when she's thinking/talking about/with Fred? Where does all that cynicism go?

"You do realize you're going to break it off in another couple of weeks and then get back together again right?"

"Yeah but I reckon I still have two weeks at least till he goes and does something incredibly stupid. He was so…._perfect_at the date." She sighs dreamily, getting a far-away look in her eyes.

I scrunch up my nose and try to block the mental images I'm getting of the two of them snogging at bloody Madam Puddifoot's. I can't believe they actually went there!

"I can't believe you actually went to Madam Puddifoot's!"

(Yes, I have a habit of vocalizing my thoughts. What of it?)

She rolls her eyes again. I wonder how many miles her eyes cover in a day. "Get over it. It wasn't that bad. Anyway, we left after an hour and went to the Dancing Troll, remember?"

"Oh yeah. How is that place anyway?"

"Bloody brilliant, is how it is! You have to go there, Syl."

"Yeah? Who with? I suppose Hagrid would go with me if I asked nicely," I say glumly.

"Stop putting yourself down. Tom Baddock's got his eye on you. Or have you not noticed? What do you think all that 'Remedial Quidditch' bullshit is about?"

"Well," I say defensively. "Maybe he's just after me because he's suddenly realized he hasn't shagged me yet. There's no way I'd ever say yes to a player like him."

Allie nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right. Pity though, he's pretty hot."

I nudge her with my elbow. "You keep your eyes on Fred."

"Oh I'll keep more than just my eyes on him," she smirks.

"Allie! Gross!"

xxx

I'm at the pitch by 6:10, waiting for Tom to show up. It's already half past six by the time he finally strolls over and I'm feeling pretty sour about having had to wait.

"What the heck kept you?"

"I had detention," he grimaces.

"Great. Well, now what did you want to teach me?"

"Right. So, you're a chaser. It's not enough for you to know how to shoot or catch the ball or even how to fly in a straight line. I don't need you to fly in a straight line. I need you to learn techniques like the Sloth Grip Roll, the Hawkshead, Porksoff Ploy, reverse pass, etc. Got that?"

I nod. "Yep." Sloth Grip, Hackhead, Pork-pie…err, anyway.

"And I need to make sure you know all the different kinds of fouls. Just in case we need to cheat."

"Cheat?" I look at him, shocked.

His eyebrows come together in confusion. "Yes. Cheat. We're Slytherin, not the Pansy Pants. Sometimes playing dirty is the only way to win."

Oh God. I can't cheat! I don't even cheat in tests and potions class! (Okay, well, who doesn't cheat in Potions? 'Snot my fault.) This is wrong!

"This is wrong," I tell him.

He looks at me dubiously. "I _know_that. That's why they're called fouls. What's your point?"

"N-nothing, I guess?" What's my point? That w_as_my point!

"Thought so."

He puts down his broomstick and sits down on the ground, patting the spot next to him. I flop down on his right side.

"Okay, let's see," he starts. "First off, if your hand is still on the Quaffle when it goes through the hoop, that's known as Haversacking. More than one chaser entering the scoring area? That's Stooging. And then there's Quaffle-pocking of course…"

xxx

Oh God, Tom's been trying to teach me the Sloth Grip Roll for like forty minutes now. I'm utterly hopeless. I keep losing my grip halfway through. It's a good thing we're only two feet off the ground or I'd be spending the entire night in the hospital wing with a bottle of skele-gro for company.

I collapse on the ground for the umpteenth time and just lay there, staring up at the darkening sky. The stars are already beginning to come out. There's one right above me, looking for all the world like one of those muggle bulbs. Ecklecticity? Eleckticity? What was it, again? Damn I can never remember.

The sky is blocked from my vision as Tom leans over me and holds out a hand. "Get up."

"No," I whine childishly. "Go 'way!"

He sighs. "Get up Sylvie. We need to get this right."

"Ab-solutely NOT. I refuse to get up, so there. Watcha gonna do about it?" I stick my tongue out at him and shut my eyes.

Next thing I know, he's hauled me to my feet and his hands are on my shoulders, gripping me tightly, almost harshly. I open my eyes tiredly.

"Why can't we just-" I break off as I see his expression. He's looking at me in an odd way and his eyes are clouded over. I can barely see them in the dimming light, but something just seems…wrong. He leans down abruptly and captures my mouth in his.

Oh my God. He's kissing me.

GET OFF ME, YOU GIT!

He thrusts his tongue into my mouth and I try to shove him away but I don't think he even feels it. "Gerrof!" I try to mumble. But I think he figures I'm moaning or something because he just deepens the kiss. Dangit! You asked for it buddy! I bite down harshly and he yelps and jumps away from me.

"What the fuck are you doing woman?" he yells.

I see with some gratification that his lip is bleeding.

"What are YOU doing? I can't believe you just kissed me! Are you insane?!"

"I thought you wanted it! What was all that shit at the table the other day, then? Huh? Where's _that_Sylvie?"

I splutter in indignation. "Just because I acted that way ONCE, doesn't mean I've been pining for you this whole while, you bloody wanker!"

He lunges forward and grips my upper arm harshly. "I don't believe you."

"What are you doing?" I yell.

He jerks me towards him again and I feel the panic rising in me. Oh Merlin, what do I do now? I don't have my wand. I push his face away with my free hand, raise my leg and kick him right in the family jewels. He shoves me away, sending me sprawling on the ground and collapses, howling in pain.

"You bloody bitch! I can't believe you did that! I'm going to get you for that one, you little slut-"

I scramble up off the ground where I've landed and leg it towards the castle, going as fast as I can, ignoring my limp and the sharp pain in my arm where he'd gripped me. My entire right side feels bruised where I hit the ground but I'm flying round corners and skidding down corridors, just running in any direction. Anywhere but the dungeon. Anywhere except the pitch or the hospital wing. Anywhere but where _he'll_ be.

I've really done it now. He's not going to leave me alone after this. He's going to destroy me. You don't just kick Tom Baddock in the nuts and get away with it, scot-free.

I barrel around another corner and collide with something hard, sending me sprawling to the ground for the fiftieth time today. I'm suddenly, painfully aware of the agony in my right ankle, the burning pain in my arm, the pounding of blood and adrenaline through my ears.

It doesn't help that I've banged my head really hard on the ground.

I open my eyes, my vision blurry from tears and exhaustion and see Potter crouching over me, looking unnaturally pale and….scared? It's so hard to focus….

"Sylvie? Sylvie, what the fuck happened-"

The pounding in my head overwhelms me then, and I slip easily into the realm of unconsciousness.


	11. Explosions & Expletives

Chapter 11:

I come to slowly. The world is swimming in and out of focus as I struggle to open my eyes. I can feel a hard surface beneath my back. Am I lying on the floor? I definitely can't be in the hospital wing then. Madam Pomfrey would never leave a patient on the floor. I relax slightly and this time my eyes open when I tell them to.

The ceiling above me is dark, cobwebs lacing the beams. I try to get up and nearly retch from the wave of nausea that sweeps over me. Woah. Way too soon to be jumping around like a spry pixie then. This whole time I've been operating under the assumption that I'm alone, so you can understand my shock when I look around the seemingly abandoned classroom and see a pair of livid eyes staring back at me.

I jump off the desk, startled, and my knees crash down onto the floor. There are footsteps and then gentle hands are lifting me up and placing me in a chair. I look up at my abductor/savior and am pretty damn shocked by the sight of James. Was he there when I fainted? I try to remember, but I can't. All I remember is the world spinning slowly, and then quickly and then stopping abruptly. Sort of like the knight bus I guess. It moves so quickly and then stops just like that and you find yourself sprawled five feet away from where you were standing, wondering why there's a potato in your hand and where your left shoe is.

"Who did this to you?"

I force myself to look up and meet his gaze, trying to focus on his eyes. They're so brown they probably can't even be classified as that colour. They're….hazel I guess? Chrome? What does chrome look like? Oh, who gives a flying flip.

"Who did this to you?" he asks again, jaw tightening visibly.

Oh yeah, he's asking me something. I'm probably supposed to answer right now.

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I try again. All I manage to get out is a feeble "Tom."

His hands tighten on the backrest of my chair, but other than that there's no change in his posture or expression. "Explain." He says.

How? That's what I really want to say. How am I supposed to explain it when I'm so tired that it's all hazy in my mind and I'm not entirely sure that I hadn't innocently been sleeping in my bed, having a nightmare, when Potter dragged me into an abandoned classroom and started interrogating me?

What I really say is, "He was teaching me how to…how to….techniques. Quidditch techniques. And then I was so tired and I refused to get up and he just-he just started kissing me and I-"

I falter, trying to remember what I'd done next.

"You what?" James hisses. "You kissed him back? You didn't want to sleep with him? Did he not like that?"

Wait, Woah, Hold up.

He's totally got the wrong end of the wand here.

I frown at him, still trying to make sense of my own thoughts, let alone his. "No-I- What are you saying? Why are you saying that? I-I didn't want him to kiss me, it was completely forced. It was lip-rape!"

James snorted and let go of the chair abruptly and violently, so it swayed a little on its back legs before steadying itself with a thump.

"And you're really surprised?" he said cruelly. "You didn't expect this when you were all over him in the Great Hall? He's a _bloke_, Sylvie. A bloke with absolutely no control over his hormones. Baddock knows what he wants and he gets it. Did you think you could just dangle yourself in front of him and he'd just ignore you? Give you what you wanted and then forget all about it, expecting nothing in return?"

He's almost shouting now and I can't understand why or even what he's saying. We're definitely not on the same page. I don't think we're even on the same novel.

"Please stop shouting," I say hoarsely. "It's not helping."

"I WILL NOT STOP SHOUTING! DO YOU REALIZE HOW FUCKING _STUPID_YOU ARE? This is entirely YOUR fault! Do you have no sense of self preservation? Hell, do you even have a fucking BRAIN?"

I'm taken aback by the intensity of his anger. I bite down on my tongue as the anger pools in me. This is _my_fault? MY fault? Oh yeah, I'm so sure I sent Tom some mental command to rape my lips with his and then act like a wanker about it. I'm _so_sure.

I struggle to stand up and brace myself against a nearby desk. And before I know it, I'm shouting too.

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? WHY DO YOU EVEN CARE? Do you even know how I feel right now? Do you think I _wanted_this? Do you think I like it when guys just jump on me and start using me without my consent?"

I can see the veins in his neck standing out as his rage increases visibly.

"You're the one who led him on. I bet this isn't even the first time you've done something like that. It seems like the sort of thing someone like you would do." His tone is harsh, bitter.

"What are you saying?" I hiss out, my voice low.

"I'm saying you're a slut and you deserve everything you get," he says quickly, brutally.

There's a ringing silence as his words echo around the room and then fade away. We're glaring at each other, chests rising and falling rapidly with the intensity of our emotions, the rage in our hearts.

And then suddenly, he's striding towards the door and wrenching it open. I blink away the tears pooling in my eyes and when I look up again, he's gone.

xxx

I feel terrible. I feel so terrible I don't think I'll ever be able to crack a joke again.

Oh wait, I just cracked one. I must not be so bad then.

I'm laying in my bed, face down on the pillow, not even trying to breathe through the choking material. The lack of oxygen is making my brain dizzy and that's how I want, no _need_it right now. I don't want to think about today. I just want to lay here and slowly forget about everything that's happened. Sadly, my pillow is not a wizard holding a wand and cannot obliviate me.

I sigh and finally flip over onto my back, grimacing as my bruises stretch with the movement.

Allie was completely shocked when she saw me limping through the common room wall. The look on her face was almost comical. She'd helped me downstairs, patched up my ankle and applied some foul smelling paste to my bruises. Then she'd demanded to know what had happened. I'd given her a run-down, compacted version of my nightmarish day and she'd looked completely livid. Instead of saying anything and making me feel worse, though, she'd made me get into bed and sleep.

I was thankful for that. And the medical help of course. Bruises are so unsightly. I'll end up looking like a domestically abused waif for the next couple of days.

Physically, I'm drained but my mind is racing, refusing to let me sleep. I keep trying to clear it of all thoughts and emotions but every time Potter's face springs back into my mind, or Tom's. I don't really know which is worse. James' I guess. I still don't understand exactly what happened. I mean, one second, he was all concerned and then the next we were screaming at each other like an old married couple trying to rip each other's throats out with the kitchen utensils.

I'm not entirely sure at which point during my ceaseless mental tirade I fell asleep, but before I know it, the sun is rising and I can hear the other girls in my dorm stirring, getting up to use the loo. I open my eyes, feeling like I haven't slept at all but get up anyway. There's no reason to stay in bed and hide away from Baddock and Potter.

I'm just going to ignore them and go about my usual routine and that'll show 'em that I can take of myself and that I know what I'm doing. You ain't getting' this gal down, bud!

It is, of course, a great help when Allie flings back the green curtains around my bed and helps me get my sorry, bruised ass over to the bathroom.

xxx

Well. It's not so bad, I reflect, as I walk out of Herbology. The bruises have already crossed the purpling stage thanks to the paste Allie applied so I should look like a normal human being soon enough instead of that girl in that old muggle movie who ate a chewing gum she wasn't supposed to and turned into a plum or whatever. Wonka something?

Allie had Arithmancy so I suppose she must be heading for DADA now, which is what both of us have next. I'm just directing my steps towards the Defence corridor when I hear a familiar voice calling out my name.

I know who it is, and I don't want to turn, don't want to acknowledge the figure running after me now, still calling my name. The still unfamiliar feeling of panic grips my heart. I want to run too, but away from him. I want to run away from my problems. But I can't seem to stop myself from turning around and planting my hands on my hips in an attitude of would-be defiance.

The dark haired bloke skids to a halt in front of me, looking at me with an almost childish sort of hope in his eyes. His breathing is heavy and he puts a hand against the wall for support, looking at me like a cornered puppy, as if he's the one being chased, not me.

"Sylvie."

"What do you want, Tom?" I all but snarl at him.


End file.
